Deep In My Bones
by pumpkinpye
Summary: Just a series of one-shots, born from my original one-shot 'Sans Canvas', but mostly stand-alone...though they'll probably follow in chronological order as much as possible. Some of them may be slightly...mature. Just so's you know :) SansxFrisk
1. Strange Magic

Strange Magic  
 _by_ _pumpkinpye_

(AN: Okay, so, the first of my one-shots. This one is a little mature: a little making out, some mention of sex, nothing too racy. But you've been warned :D Enjoy!)

* * *

Frisk woke suddenly to darkness and warmth. For a moment she was tempted just to drift back to sleep and leave the mystery as to where she was for another time, but something was bothering her. She lay on a couch under a blanket but…she wasn't alone. There was a solidness pressed against her, between her body and the back cushions, and if it wasn't exactly comfortable it was at least sort of familiar. Pursing her lips she sent a hand questing, determined to find out who she had cuddled up with in the moments before the bottle of wine she'd drunk had finally caught up with her…

Clothing. Cool bone. She went a little further, searching for something definitive.

A hand, one barely bigger than one of her own. Sans.

She closed her eyes with a sigh. Of course.

It had been almost two weeks since the day he'd agreed to help her with her art project—two weeks since she'd given in to the unexpected temptation to kiss him briefly on the mouth.

Two weeks since things between them had stopped being comfortable.

Sans had been doing his very best, she knew, not to make a big deal of it—but she knew it had already changed their entire friendship. In the moment she'd kissed him she'd all but admitted that she liked him. And he in return had admitted that, had circumstances been different, he definitely would've kissed her back.

But then Papyrus had come home. And that had been the end of it.

They'd seen each other a few times since then but there had been no opportunity to talk about what had happened. So it just continued to hang over them, poisoning every one of their interactions. She was almost starting to wish she hadn't given in...

But she had. And there was no going back. She let out a long, silent sigh.

And then, in spite of her headache, in spite of the fact that she was still a little drunk, she shuffled her way through the blankets until she'd spooned up behind her couch-mate, encircling him with her arms. He was bony; he was pointy; he was cold. For an instant she wondered if it was even physically possible for them to have a relationship.

Then with a gasp he was awake.

"P-pap…?" he croaked in a whisper.

She moved her hand until she was touching one of his fingers. He brushed the digit along her knuckle, searching sleepily for the answer to his question…and then he went very still.

She lay her forehead against the back of his skull and waited, knowing it would take him only a moment to decide what to do. It would be easy for him to apparate away; in fact that was probably the smartest thing he could do at the moment—she was still kind of drunk, plus she had intruded on his personal space without so much as a _may_ _I?_ She wouldn't blame him if he chose to put a little distance between them.

But he didn't disappear. He simply lay stiff as a board in her arms, not leaving but not entirely committed to staying. The seconds passed like hours.

And then, eventually, he relaxed.

Frisk let out a breath against the back of his neck and couldn't help a small smile as he shuddered. At least that hadn't changed in two weeks. "You're pointy," she murmured to him quietly. "And bony. And not very warm."

"Well, I am a skeleton," he mumbled back. "Not sure what you expected."

She hummed softly and, giving him plenty of time to object, began to trace the feel of his ribs beneath his shirt. His head lolled encouragingly and his breath began to stutter. "Uh, Frisk...um, what're you..."

"Exploring. I know the timing isn't great." She ran her fingers firmly up his sternum, earning herself a faint, sighing moan that made her skin prickle pleasantly. "You can say no if you want to; I'm not exactly sober and there are, like, four people sleeping upstairs. But I just thought maybe we ought to take this opportunity, since we've had precious few others, to figure out what happens next."

His jaw was such an interesting shape; she touched her lips to his jawbone, spurred on by the way he shifted automatically to give her more access. It was strange; she never would've figured skeletons could feel things like this. If not for painting him she might never have realized, and then maybe none of this would've happened. It was funny how one small revelation could change absolutely everything…

"Frisk. Frisk, wait; stop." He lifting shaking hands to urge her fingers away. "I, uh…I need to move."

"Move?"

"Yeah; move." She heard the shifting of the blanket before she saw the silhouette of his skull in the gray pre-dawn light starting to filter into the room. And then he was lying down again, this time facing her. She could almost feel his smile widening as his arms settled around her beneath the cover, his bony legs and feet tangling themselves with her flesh-covered ones. "You're so hot, like an oven," he mumbled. "You aren't, uh, gonna burn me, are you?"

She didn't have to be sober to know he wasn't talking about their temperature difference. "Only if you promise not to give me the cold shoulder tomorrow."

"I don't make promises, remember?"

He was poking fun at her. She scowled and scratched at his ribs, chuckling breathily as he grabbed for her hands. "Hey, none of that," he warned her, still squirming. "If it's a tickle fight you're looking for we're definitely gonna want to take this somewhere else."

She snickered, feeling suddenly light-headed. And then, to shut him up, she kissed him.

It was, unsurprisingly, nothing like kissing a human. He had no lips; just teeth and bone. She pressed her mouth against them, not sure for a moment if she was doing it right.

And then, unexpectedly, there was warmth. Her eyes flew open and she started backward an inch, feeling the pressure of his hands against her back. He was grinning in the blue light from his eye as it flared and flickered at her; she stared in surprise, not sure what was going on. "Sans; what…?"

"Magic," he whispered. "I've had two weeks to think about this; and, believe me, I thought about it a lot. Not that I never thought about it before now, but that was before I ever thought I had a chance…" He trailed off and cleared his throat. "Anyway, I think I've figured out a way to make stuff like this more comfortable for your squishy body. I'm hoping it'll, uh, feel kinda good, too. Just…just let me know, okay? I, uh…this'll be the first time I've ever done something like this."

"Um…okay." She tried to settle back against him comfortably, attempting to ignore the butterflies in her stomach. "So, what do I…?"

"Nothing. Just what you were doing. Just, uh, let me know if it isn't working."

"Um…all right." She leaned in toward him again, lips pursed faintly, not sure what to expect.

Warmth again. Movement. If she kept her eyes closed it almost felt like a pair of lips against her own, and now she could feel the flicker of his magic against her cheeks, and then warmth against the rest of her as his hands began to travel. She sighed, feeling her body start to respond. Oh yes, this was nice… She put her own hands out to touch him in return and could feel odd little eddies of his magic swirl through her fingers. She ran her palms over the outside of his shirt, massaging his spine, his ribs, and smiled as she heard him try unsuccessfully to muffle a moan. They weren't going to be able to keep this up for much longer a distant part of her brain realized; but making out was definitely a fun way to pass the time…

"Ah, Frisk…w-wait…I, ahh…" He pushed her back and she was surprised to see the bluish flush of the magic wreathing around him like an undulating layer of skin. "I, ahh…think I might've overdone it a little with the magic. You okay?"

"I'm fine." She frowned at him faintly. "Are you okay?"

"I, uh...yeah, I'm…I'm fine…"

She shifted a little, trying to get a little more comfortable as he continued to struggle against what she assumed was an excess of the magic he'd conjured. As her knee brushed against one of his legs, however, he hissed like she'd burned him and gave a small moan. "Ahh, Frisk…w-wait… I can't dispel it..."

"Uh oh. Is that bad?"

"Not sure. Just…just gimme a minute…"

She watched in silence for a few moments as he closed his eyes, trying to regain his focus enough to hopefully solve the problem. It wasn't long, however, before she noticed that tendrils of the energy were still reaching out for her. Curious, she let them lick over her skin…

And felt a sudden, unexpected wave of…something ripple over her skin. Then it came again and she couldn't help a soft moan. Oh god, what…?

"F-frisk…what're you…oh…oh god…"

It happened very quickly. One moment they were trapped together in his excess energy; Frisk couldn't help reaching for him, moaning as his hands were suddenly on her as well. For an instant all she could feel was every touch of his body against her, every point of contact burning and aching as they writhed together in an eternity of seconds…

And then, without warning, she cried out as her body peaked at so much stimulation, the magic breaking and releasing into the room with a rattle of glass and picture frames. Sans, too, seemed to have reached some peak; he was gripping her tightly, his face pressed firmly into her shirt, his breath still coming out in heavy gasps…but at least the energy was spent.

She resisted the urge to laugh in relief; she had a feeling Sans wouldn't appreciate her mirth at the moment. "Sans," she prodded softly, "you okay?"

"Uhhgh," he moaned quietly. "That wasn't supposed to happen; sorry. Please tell me you're not hurt…"

"I'm not hurt," she assured him. "That…felt really good, actually."

"It was supposed to. I was just supposed to be able to control it better, and shut it down without having to release it. I…I hope we didn't wake anyone up."

"BROTHER…?"

They froze in each other's arms.

"BROTHER, WHAT WAS THAT? ARE YOU USING YOUR MAGIC DOWN HERE?"

"Uh…uh, yeah, Pap. S'okay, though; problem solved. Just a little…something I had to take care of. Go back to bed."

"A…ALL RIGHT, IF YOU'RE SURE. BUT PLEASE TRY TO REFRAIN FROM USING YOUR MAGIC IN THE FUTURE WHILE EVERYONE IS SLEEPING. AND IF YOU WOULDN'T MIND BEING A LITTLE QUIETER ABOUT MAKING OUT WITH THE HUMAN ON THE COUCH I'M SURE EVERYONE WOULD APPRECIATE THAT, TOO."

"Yeah, dorks! Be considerate! Even I'm not that loud!"

Frisk felt her face flame and glanced at Sans, unsurprised to see him looking just as mortified as she felt. They stared at each other for several moments in silence…

Until a voice emanated from the master bedroom, one that made Frisk feel about seven years old. "Children…"

There was deafening silence. Sans seemed to be turning an interesting shade of green.

"…I do believe I won our bet. Alphy, Undyne, Papyrus—you all owe me twenty dollars; I'll expect my money in the morning. But right now, if everyone doesn't mind, I would like to go back to sleep. So, Sans and Frisk…"

Frisk wasn't sure she would've been able to make a sound even if she'd wanted to. Sans seemed to be trying to disappear into the couch.

"…I'm glad you've finally worked out your mutual attraction; next time don't take two weeks about it. And, if you don't mind, please wait until you've reached one or other of your bedrooms to rattle any more windows."

Laughter rolled through the upstairs. Frisk buried her head under the blanket…and discovered Sans there, too. She smiled faintly. "Busted," she whispered.

He chuckled softly. "Wanna get out of here?"

Moments later the downstairs was empty and silent. The only movement came from a blanket fluttering to the floor…

…and that, too, soon came to rest as all unsettled things were wont to do.


	2. Word Vomit

Word Vomit  
 _by pumpkinpye_

(AN: In which Sans and Frisk are cute. Because this was where my muse went and I couldn't convince it otherwise. Blargh.)

* * *

Frisk woke to the memory of a bottle of wine. The party had been low-key—just a get-together at Toriel's house for the six of them—but there had been alcohol, and Sans, and the memory of the day she'd kissed him hanging in the air like a suffocating cloud of invisible smoke...so she'd gotten kind of hammered, much to Undyne and Alphys' amusement and Toriel's consternation. She could vaguely recall dancing with Papyrus to some upbeat cacophony and playing some game with Undyne that had involved a lot of trying not to throw up, but the rest was pretty fuzzy. Had she woken up in the night? She tried to remember but all that came to mind was something she couldn't be sure wasn't a dream: lying on a couch with Sans; touching him; magic; so much pleasure...

A dream, surely. Especially since they hadn't so far managed to talk together alone—thanks in part to her own uncertainties and the fact that he seemed to be going out of his way to avoid her. How in the world were they going to untangle themselves from this mess?

"Hey, kiddo. You awake?"

Hastily she opened her eyes. She was in her own bed, in her own room when she'd expected to find herself at Toriel's...and she wasn't alone. A gentle finger prodded her shoulder and then drew a soft, slow line down the length of her spine, over her t-shirt. She shuddered faintly at the pleasurable sensation and pushed herself up on her elbows, mind racing to remember what had happened after she'd fallen asleep.

Sans greeted her with a weary smile, eyes half-closed. "'Morning, kid. Sleep okay?"

The memories rushed back: climbing onto the couch with him, making out until her body was singing, the accident with his magic that had been both amazing and embarrassing...

And then disappearing with him to her apartment where they could have some privacy...only to drop into oblivion as soon as her head hit the pillow.

"Sans," she murmured, still marveling that he was here. She shuffled closer and dropped her forehead to his, smiling as he closed his eyes. "Sorry if I came on a little strong last night. A little too much liquid courage, I guess."

"Hey, I'm not complaining. And, really, I should be the one apologizing; I guess I was afraid...well, it doesn't matter anymore." He lifted a bony hand to her face, sliding his fingers over her cheek as if testing out her reality. "Sorry, too, for trying out that magic trick before I knew what I was doing. That was kinda stupid. Just wanted to impress you, I guess. Figured it was my one chance to prove I could, you know, be with you that way. Didn't work exactly as planned, but there's room for improvement, right? If you, you know, ever decide you wanna _throw me a bone_ again."

She smiled. Before she could speak, however, the headache climbing around inside of her head suddenly began to have babies. She moaned and dropped her face into her pillow, silently begging her stomach to forgive her for having been a moron.

"You okay, kid?"

"Um...not exactly. _Urp_." Hastily she slapped a hand over her mouth and scrambled to get out of bed. An instant later she felt the familiar tug of his magic and found herself transported into the bathroom with just enough time to tip the lid of the toilet up before she vomited. "Oh god," she moaned, sinking to the floor. "I'm so sorry. This isn't how I pictured the morning after."

"S'okay, Frisk. Don't apologize. I never believed we'd have a morning after, so no matter what it's still better than waking up to another dream."

"You...you dreamed about me?" she wondered aloud. And then immediately ruined the moment by vomiting again. She lay her cheek against the inside of her elbow and silently cursed Undyne for having called her an eighty-pound weakling who couldn't hold her liquor.

Suddenly the bathroom faucet started running. A moment later a cup wreathed in blue flame dipped itself into the flow and then floated over to her. She took it out of the air with a brief smile and allowed herself a couple of slow careful sips. A moment later a bottle of painkillers floated out of her medicine cabinet and into her other hand. She couldn't help a soft chuckle as she opened the bottle and forced herself to swallow a couple of the pills. "Thanks, Sans."

"No prob." And then, unexpectedly, he was there to help her to her feet. She clung to his bony arms for balance and leaned against him, trying not to shiver at the touch of his cold, smooth body beneath his thin t-shirt. "You want me to carry you? I might even manage to knock you out against the door jamb if you're lucky."

She laughed with a wince. "No thanks; I'm good."

It didn't take them long to choose something on Netflix—mostly, Frisk thought, because both of them knew they weren't really going to watch it. Then, once it was playing, she made herself comfortable on the bed and smiled as Sans spooned up behind her, one of his hands landing not-quite by accident on one of her breasts.

"Uh, oops," he muttered, and she could almost hear his grin as he moved his palm to safer territory.

With a smile, however, Frisk put it back against the soft swell of her body. She heard his breath catch and felt a wave of heat that had nothing to do with her hangover. "There," she whispered. "Now we'll both know it wasn't a dream when we wake up again."

"Uh, that..." She heard him swallow behind her as he spooned up behind her a little closer. "...that might be the _breast_ idea ever."


	3. Frisky Business

Frisky Business  
 _by pumpkinpye_

(AN: Okay, so, this chapter is pretty mature. Just so's you know. Enjoy!)

* * *

He was becoming quite good at this.

Frisk moaned happily into the kiss as he called up enough blue magic to cover his hands—just enough to stimulate without ending everything too soon—and touched all of the places he was quickly learning she loved to be touched: breasts, throat, thighs, fingertips trailing and leaving warmth in their tracks, almost like feathery kisses. Desperate to return the favour, as always, she reached for him, still remembering every one of his stifled moans as they'd experimented with the magic, trying to figure out how much was necessary...and sometimes still ending up trapped in his energy as it built to near intolerable levels before tossing them both over their breathless peaks with a rattle of glassware. Watching him in the throes of passion—it had been almost better than her own orgasms, seeing him writhe and hearing him whimper as his own magic undid him like a zipper.

But, as always now, he urged her hands gently away and focused on her pleasure. He needed to concentrate, he said. His pleasure they could deal with later. And perfunctorily, like an afterthought, as if he thought it wasn't terribly important. He was afraid to lose control, she'd come to realize eventually.

She desperately wanted him to lose control.

But, for now, she could let him have his way...especially as he began to center in on her core, one hand still all warm, stimulating magic, the other smooth and cold as he slid one digit and then another into her heat.

She cried out instantly, entreating wordlessly for more. He chuckled softly in the darkness. Two cold fingers inside, a colder thumb on the outside just circling the little nub of nerves he'd been fascinated by since the moment he'd discovered it.

"Like this?" he asked in a husky whisper. "Just taking my time? Oh Frisk, you have no idea how this feels...to be able to make you feel so good..."

She couldn't manage to form words. Then, just as the pleasure began to plateau, he twisted his hand, making her whimper as he brought their faces together and gave her magic lips to kiss. She gasped against his mouth and something darted out to taste her. She moaned. Oh god, he was going to kill her...

" _Sans_..."she breathed. " _Oh god_..."

"That's right, sweetheart...just let me..." The magic flowed against her, like the ebb and flow of waves, making her gasp and groan as it left her always just a little too soon. And then, without warning, it was flowing inside of her, flowing and expanding and swirling until she was twisting and sweating, her body lost to the maelstrom as he teased her nub and let the magic tease her everywhere else, pumping and throbbing and massaging in all the right places until she was crying out, her peak approaching on heavy footsteps until it was right at the door...

" _Ohhh godhhhhhhhhhddd!_ "

He ushered her happily through her orgasm; she could even hear him laughing under his breath. And then she was coming down, slowly, breathlessly, his hands gently leading her back to earth until she was limp and sated at his side. After a moment she opened her eyes.

He was grinning at her, one eye glowing blue in the dark and making her think inevitably of the Cheshire Cat. "Want another one?" he asked.

She gave a laughing groan. "Oh my god, give me a minute to recover. Is watching me turn into a sweaty mess really that entertaining?"

"You have no idea."

Actually, she did. And now that she'd remembered she decided she was extremely ready for another orgasm... _his._ Smiling, she shifted closer and ran her fingers along his ribs, down his spine, over his pelvic bones, enjoying the way he shuddered at her touch. He was definitely _Sans-_ itive enough; if only he would let her have control, just for a few minutes...

"Sans..."

But he seemed to already know what she was going to ask. "No, kid. Sorry. Maybe next time, okay? Let's just enjoy this..."

"But..."

"Kid, if I lose control..."

"But you won't."

"You don't know that. All it takes is one time..."

"But...but I want to feel like _I'm_ doing it..."

"Kid, you are doing it."

"No I'm not. You're doing it. The magic's doing it. If I were doing it I'd make it last a little longer..."

"Frisk..."

She rolled over, suddenly angry. "Nevermind. It doesn't matter. Let's just do it your way forever. You'll make love to me and then you'll masterbate while I pretend to help. Perfect."

"Frisk, please..."

But she refused to look at him. Maybe she was being petty; maybe she was being selfish; maybe she was being reckless. But he was her lover and she had yet to make him _moan_ ; was it really so much to ask to let her have a little control if she promised to be careful?

"All right, fine. We'll try it. Okay? Just...just for a few minutes. But if I tell you to back off..."

"I will. I promise." She rolled over to look at him, feeling suddenly contrite for having thrown a tantrum. "I'm sorry for getting angry; I just...want to learn how to make you feel good, too."

"You already make me feel good, kid. Everything about you makes me feel good. You don't need to do anything else."

"I know. But I _want_ to do it. A lot. What if our roles were reversed and I wouldn't let you give me orgasms like you do? Wouldn't you be sad?"

He glanced away and then nodded faintly.

"See? It's an important part of a healthy relationship. So now, if you wouldn't mind lying down..."

He moved to relax against the mattress. Then, after a moment, his eye blazed to life and his left hand began to glow; he touched it to her right hand and then brought both of their hands to his ribcage, over the glowing shape that was his soul. "Gently, remember? And if I tell you to stop..."

"I'll stop, I promise."

He released her hand.

She began to touch him.

The glow followed her fingers as she feathered them over his clavicals, up his throat, down his sternum and over his spine, all of the places she'd touched before so that he'd shuddered. But this time she could see him straining. His eyes were closed; his fists were clenched. He was trying to restrain his reactions, to keep her safe. But he wasn't about to get away with that. With a smile she put her palms together, spreading the glow to her other hand. And then, after lying down beside him and pressing her lips to his jawbone, she began to touch him everywhere. He gasped, his body instinctively rolling to follow her hands. "Ahh, okay, remember what I said about slow?"

"Yeah?"

"Forget I ever said it."

She smirked. "Faster, then?"

"Ahh, god..." He sucked in a breath as she quickened her pace; she could almost feel the build up of magic like a charge of static electricity around his body. "Oh fuck, please..."

"Should I stop now? You said I should only do this for a few minutes."

"No, please don't stop. Oh god...it's...it's okay...it's... _ahhh, please..._ "

His pelvic bones; she'd always felt a little funny about exploring here, even though he had no male anatomy to speak of. Apparently that didn't matter. She slipped her hands into the cradle of his pelvis and felt more than saw the magic flare suddenly between them. He cried out, writhing frantically an instant before he shot out his hands to grip her shoulders. Then, as if it had been waiting for that moment of connection, the magic exploded.

She could feel him for an instant trying to pull it back. But it wasn't going to be controlled. It screamed through her body, almost searing her with its intensity. He'd been right; it could blow them both apart if they weren't careful. But she was determined not to let that happen. She grabbed his hands from her shoulders and after a moment of separating the magic into its individual strands began to take as much of what he was sending her as she could stand before feeding the rest back to him through their linked fingers. He arched in response with a whimper and she climbed on top of him to complete the connection, moaning as he wrapped his arms around her and every point of contact, every sweep of their hands, every minute shift of skin against bone built the pressure inside of both of them until she thought she would fly apart—

—until, finally—

" _Oh god..._ "

" _F_ _uhhhhhh..._ "

The pleasure rose to its peak, balanced there for an agonizing couple of seconds, and then pulsed outward in a series of waves. No window panes shook; no glass rattled. They moaned in each other's arms, riding the tide together, and she felt a soft flame caress her face, looking for a kiss. She obliged happily, lost in sensation, and the feel and taste of him. He hadn't lost control; she hadn't let him. And it had been amazing.

"That was..." he breathed.

"I know," she smirked.

"You are..."

"I know."

"How did you do that? Control it like that? It...it was like you were pulling it apart and sending it back..."

"I'm not sure, actually. It...it just felt like something I could do. And I wanted to do it _so badly_."

He shook his head, clearly shaken, though there was still a blissful grin plastered across his face. "Your determination is kinda terrifying, kid."

She smiled into the curve of his jaw; at least he wasn't the only one who was a force to be reckoned with. "I know."


	4. Flesh and Bone

Flesh and Bone  
 _by pumpkinpye_

(AN: Am I always going to leave an author's note? Maaaybe. Thanks for reading, peeps. Enjoy!)

* * *

It had been a busy night. Frisk dropped into the chair across from Sans and pulled the apron over her head with a sigh, hardly caring when her hair flopped into her eyes. She was tired, her body ached in places she hadn't realized it could ache, and all she could smell was the beer and grease that had been splashed on her by just about every customer and staff member in the bar. Now all she wanted to do was eat, shower, and go to bed.

Judging by the look on Sans' face, however, she wasn't going to be doing any of those things any time soon. She loved him—not that she'd used the 'L-word' yet; they were still only a few months into the relationship and she didn't want to scare him away prematurely—but he had his moods sometimes, and she was still learning how to push and pull him out of his funks when he got all quiet…or, alternatively, smiley and punny and difficult to pin down. Resigned to having to try and worm whatever it was out of him before they left she stole one of his fries and leaned back in her chair, gazing at him through her bangs. Then, when he continued to simply scroll through whatever he was looking at on his phone instead of acknowledging her presence, she stole another fry…and threw it at him.

"Hey, Sans, look at your phone _tater_ , I want to go _homefry_."

He glanced at her briefly but said nothing; it was the only response she'd expected. She pillowed her head in her arms on the table to wait for him to decide he wanted to talk. Maybe she'd have time to take a quick nap…

"Who's Mark?"

She raised her head, confused by the question. "Mark who?"

"You tell me," Sans muttered with a shrug, still looking at his phone. "Who is he? Friend? Co-worker? Family member you haven't mentioned before?"

She blinked, mind stumbling tiredly for an answer. "I don't know a Mark, Sans."

Unexpectedly she saw a flicker of blue in his eye socket. It took her a moment to understand that he wasn't trying to initiate some ill-timed intimacy…he was angry. He banished the flame an instant later, but it didn't change the fact that she'd seen it. She sat up in the chair, feeling her stomach start to churn. What in the world was he angry about?

"Look, Sans, you're going to have to be clearer with me because I have no idea what you're…"

"Mark," Sans snapped, showing her the screen of his phone. Only then did she realize it was actually _her_ phone he was holding…and there was a picture on the screen, pulled up from her saved images, of a tall, muscular, dark-haired Adonis in low-riding jeans and not much else. She didn't need to see the filename to know it read 'mark dot jpg '.

She couldn't help it; she laughed. "Is that the Mark you're worried about?" she asked. "Well, you don't have to worry, I've never met him. It's just a picture I found on the internet a few years ago and saved because, well, I guess I thought he was kind of hot." _Still is_ , she admitted to herself…not that she was about to say that aloud. "Now, if you don't mind, _nosybones_ , can I have my phone back so we can go home?"

"Is that the kind of guy you think is hot, Frisk? Someone with muscles and hair? Someone tall and tanned? Someone _human_?"

Frisk sat up so fast the chair rocked precariously for a second. What the hell? "Sans, what are you talking about? I'm not…"

"Do you look at pictures like this when I'm not around? Do you imagine yourself with guys like this? Do you wish…" He faltered for a moment, but pressed on mercilessly. "…wish I looked like this? Handsome, with skin and…and an actual _dick_?"

She blinked again, not sure she could've been more surprised if he'd tried running her over with a car. Where was this all coming from? "Sans, stop; why are you so upset? Most people have pictures like this on their phones. I actually forgot that one was on there. I don't look at it anymore. I'm not _interested_ in looking at it anymore…"

"You know what, never mind. Doesn't matter. Let's get outta here." He stood and tossed her phone onto the table, turning away and shoving his hands into his pockets as he headed for the exit.

Frisk grabbed her phone and followed him.

Once they were in her apartment she kicked off her sneakers and trailed Sans into the livingroom, hovering silently as he stretched out on the couch and turned on the television. She gave him another moment to acknowledge her before marching over and turning the television off again.

"Hey, what gives? I'm tryin' to relax."

"Relax later. Right now, we're having a conversation."

"Are we? All I'm getting is a lot of _static_."

"Sans, stop it or I swear to god I'm dumping all the ketchup down the sink. Now, please, what the hell was all of that at the bar? Are you seriously going to give me the cold shoulder over a picture I downloaded before I even met you? Yes, I thought he was hot; most girls—and probably some guys—would, too. But that doesn't mean I'm looking for someone like that. Sex is about more than physical appearance; it's about personality, connection, chemistry…"

"So you're telling me you wouldn't rather be with someone with skin and hair and muscles who has personality, connection, chemistry…?"

"No, Sans! I want _you_! That's why I'm with you!"

"You sure? A lot of those guys there tonight were checking you out, you know. Good-looking guys—all hairy and full of organs…"

"Sans..."

"Those guys could probably hold you at night without bein' too bony or making you cold. Could take you out to dinner without everyone staring at 'em. Could have actual sex with you instead of the _whatever-the-hell-it-is_ we have. Have babies and grow old with you…"

Okay. Whoa. Frisk felt her throat go dry. This was definitely about more than the picture. "Sans, wait, hold up. Are…are you afraid I'm going to dump you for a human?"

"No. I'm afraid you're gonna wake up one morning and realize you _are_ a human." And, with that, he apparated away.

Frisk was left staring at an empty couch. After a moment she turned around and sat. And then she lay down and let out a couple of tired sobs before curling up where he'd been. Stupid skeleton. Maybe she would dump his ketchup anyway.

She woke hours later to the feel of a familiar tingling kiss on her forehead. Blearily she opened her eyes and realized she was in her bed and that Sans was busy trying to untangle the blankets so he could pull them over her. Wearily she ventured out a hand, patting the bedspread until she found his fingers. "Sans…"

"Hey, kiddo. Sorry...'bout earlier. But you need to go back to sleep, all right? We'll talk in the morning."

"No. No, please; don't go."

"S'okay, kid. I'm not going anywhere."

"But…but...you're not leaving me...are you?"

He laughed: a hollow, mirthless sound. "No. No, I'm not leaving you. Though I wouldn't be surprised if you wanted to leave me after that little tantrum I threw in the bar. Sorry, kid. I'm a screw-up."

"You're not a screw-up, Sans."

"Really? I have an amazing girlfriend who works hard and instead of takin' her home to make her supper an' rub her feet I steal her phone and accuse her of wanting to _bone_ every human she sees. Sounds pretty screwed up to me."

"Sans, c'mere. Lie down."

"Kid…"

"Please."

Not until she'd wrapped her arms around his humerus bone and lay her head against his clavical did she bother to continue the conversation. "I know I'm a human, Sans. But, honestly, it wasn't something I thought much about when I first kissed you. I just…went with my feelings. Since then, though, I have thought about it a little—our lives together, wondering if you'll still be around when I'm old and wrinkly…"

"No worries, kid, I'm sure you'll still be _raisin_ my temperature when you're... _ahh_!"

She pulled her fingers away from his ribs and grinned as he swatted at her hand. "Do you mind? I'm trying to have a serious conversations here."

"Kid, I'm not gonna care what you look like."

"And I don't care what you look like, either. It's you, Sans. It's you I, well…" She bit her lip and then plunged in. "It's you I love. I don't want anyone else, because no one else would be you. I…I love you." He'd gone very still. Frisk felt her heart start to hammer and hastily backpedaled, determined to salvage what she could before he apparated away again. "It's, uh…it's okay if you don't feel the same way, though. It…it's pretty early in the relationship, and we're still working a lot of stuff out. It's probably a bad idea anyway to get too attached before we know it's going to work…"

"Frisk, stop. Please...stop talking."

She clapped her mouth shut and pressed her face into his shoulder, afraid to look up and see the derision in his expression, or worse...pity.

"Do you want to know why that picture bothered me so much?"

She nodded wordlessly against his arm, trying to draw encouragement from every moment he remained beside her in the bed.

"Because I…I've kind of had this feeling you only started up with me because you…you felt something, you know, physical for me...and that, one day, when you finally got tired of me and my magic tricks you'd go out and find a human to be with. So many human couples in that bar, so many men starin' at you; you coulda picked any of 'em, you know. I know I'm not much to look at, 'specially compared with them, and when I realized I'd grabbed your phone by mistake and found that picture when I was tryin' to check out your selfies I thought maybe you were already gettin' tired of me, startin' to think about what kind of future we could possibly have and deciding it was time to cut me loose…"

"Sans…"

"No, let me finish. I love you, Frisk. I think I was in love with you long before I realized it. I can't remember a time when you weren't my first thought when I woke up and my last before I went to sleep. I…I'm not sure what I'd do now, if you went away…"

She couldn't pretend anymore that she wasn't crying. She sniffled quietly and raised her head to look at him. "I'm not going anywhere. Ever."

"Me either, kid. Never. You're going _tibia_ stuck with me for awhile."

The sex was urgent and noisy. Frisk laughed and sobbed and almost inhaled some of her hair when Sans accidentally cracked the headboard. When they were done she heard one of the glasses shatter in the kitchen. She chuckled against his ribcage.

"I love you. I love you so much. I might say this a lot now. I hope you're ready."

"The real question is 'are you ready?'"

She sat up and traced a finger over one of his clavicals, smiling faintly as his eye began to burn again. "And what, exactly, should I be ready for?"

His hands flared and he grinned as he reached for her. "Being _bone_ _tired_ tomorrow."


End file.
